


Benchmates

by Perosha



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Casually Ignoring KHUX, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Post-Kingdom Hearts III
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perosha/pseuds/Perosha
Summary: [KH3] Demyx and Even's first conversation after KH3.





	Benchmates

**Author's Note:**

> i am writing 200 other KH3 fics simultaneously but here’s a quickie i did mostly on my phone at work. i know this doesn’t fit with ongoing canon because of khux and whatnot but i don’t care, i’m just here to have fun

The music was not part of the abyss, because it only got louder and clearer once his consciousness returned and he forced his eyes open at last. The nighttime world was blurry. Strands of melody threaded through the dim room like spider silk heavy with dew, every note rippling lazily into the next, and beneath it the murmuring singsong of a voice that stopped and started, testing out fragments of lyrics.

_“When you walk aaa-way, you don’t hear me say…”_

He stared at the ceiling, aching, aching, weary. This room...was his. Was it not? Then…

His escape attempt had worked. A miracle.

Every muscle of him hurt, every limb, every cell.

“Nah, that’s no good…” The voice drifted past, low and thoughtful. “Hrmm...what else rhymes...”

From this angle he could just see the voice’s source sitting over by the window, a source who muttered to himself and gnawed on the eraser of a pencil stub, holding a notepad up to the lamplight to better read his own scribbling. The figure leaned back in the carved chair as if it were a recliner, outstretched legs crossed at the ankles, feet propped up on a stack of research notes that had been turned into a makeshift ottoman. He wore the uniform of a royal guardsman, though it was so disheveled as to be almost unrecognizable: wrinkled and half-buttoned, no gloves and no belt and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, unstarched collar hanging loose. A large blue string instrument took up most of his lap.

Even fell off the edge of the bed.

Demyx yelped as loudly as Even did, starting so badly that his sitar vanished in a rush of bubbles. He scrambled to his feet, knocking the topmost book off of the ottoman stack.

“Whoa, whoa, hey! You awake over there?”

A gasping Even was grabbed under the armpits and hauled up off the floor, then dropped facedown back onto the messy bed.

“You coulda said something, dude! Sheesh. You tryin’ to give me a heart attack or what?”

Even rolled over onto his back, shaking. All of him hurt so badly that he briefly lost his vision, and when it returned Demyx’s curious face swam above him.

“It’s about time you snapped out of it. Seriously, you’ve been zonked out for ages. Hey—how many fingers am I holding up, huh?”

Instead of answering, Even gathered what little strength he could find and tried to sit up, failing and hurting yet worse from the attempt. Demyx poked him in the sternum with one finger, and he was so weak that this was all it took to keep him pinned to the crumpled sheets.

“Calm down, yikes. What’s the big hurry?”

 _“Xehanort.”_ His voice was a hoarse whisper. _“What’s...happen...ing...”_

“Oh, is that what you’re worried about? Dude, Xehanort’s gone already. Poof. Kaput.”

“Wh... _what?”_

“Gone!” Demyx hit a fist into his palm. “You’ve been out like a log, you missed the whole thing. I mean, I sat it out too, but still...heard it was intense! A whole Keyblade crew rolled out to the badlands with Sora, and now all those scary guys are toast. Xehanort, Xemnas, all of ‘em. Finally got sent packing so hard that they can’t ever come back.” He pointed encouragingly at his own face. “See? Check it out—green as green.”

His eyes were indeed quite green. Blue, almost, in the lamplight.

“You’ve turned back to normal too. I dunno if there’s a mirror around here anywhere, though…”

Demyx rummaged among the scattered papers on the table beside the bed, moving aside a binder of lab reports he’d been using as a drink coaster and accidentally knocking over an empty bowl that had apparently once contained popcorn. Burnt and unpopped kernels scattered over the carpet.

Even summoned all his meager strength to reach up and feel the helix of his own ear. He inhaled sharply as he felt its rounded shape, and then gasped harder, as the very act of inhaling sent a knife between his ribs.

“...mmm, can’t find one.” Demyx stopped rummaging through the nightstand. “Well, whatever. You’ve just gotta take my word for it.”

He kicked away the empty popcorn bowl, then considered for a moment before dragging the chair he’d been sitting in over to the side of the bed. The noise of this was so loud that it made Even wince, but Demyx didn’t seem to notice, instead flopping back into the chair with every sign of contentment.

“What...are you... _wearing?”_ Somehow it was the only thing he could think of to say.

“What, this?” Demyx tugged at his unfastened collar with one finger. “Yeah, totally not my style, huh? But I’m crashing here for a while, so the others let me borrow some of Xiggy’s old clothes. He hasn’t turned up yet, so finders keepers ‘til then.”

Even stared him, and then at the wall behind him, wide-eyed, unbelieving, the pain relentless. Demyx watched him with appreciative interest, as though he were a particularly engaging television commercial.

“It’s...over?” Even croaked.

“Seems like it, yeah. Been over for a few days. You’ve just been out of it, that’s all. Everybody’s been waitin’ on you to wake up.”

He nodded, his shadow thrown against the wall bobbing along in sync with him, an eager chorus.

“You were suuuper banged up. I wasn’t here that day, but the other guys said they had to scrape you off the sidewalk with a spatula. If they hadn’t found you, you woulda died...like _died-_ died, the normal way. They had to glue you back together with magic and stuff.”

Which was exactly what it felt like, why there was pain and pain and pain but no scars that he could see, no open wounds left bleeding. He breathed carefully through gritted teeth, shaking, trying to think through the ache, and closed his eyes.

Gone.

Gone.

_Gone..._

“You want some Cheesy Poofs?”

“What?”

Demyx shoved a clear plastic container under his nose and rattled its contents, which looked like neon orange ping pong balls.

“Cheesy Poofs,” he insisted. “They’re good. Extra-cheddar flavor.”

“Where...”

But Demyx happily crunched into a handful of them, and the action was so loud that it drowned out Even’s whisper. When he made no move to reach for the container, Demyx shrugged and set it on the nightstand, keeping one hand fishing in it as he talked.

“Glad you’re finally up, dude, everybody was startin’ to get worried. Sooo...what happened?”

He hesitated, popping a couple of Cheesy Poofs into his mouth before elaborating, in a slightly muffled voice.

“You got caught by the bad guys, right? That’s what we’ve all been guessing...”

Even didn’t answer, but that was answer enough. Demyx gave an exaggerated shudder that nevertheless seemed genuine.

“Man, I freakin’ knew it! Pissing off that crowd was crazy dangerous. One of ‘em by ‘emselves would’ve been scary enough, but all of ‘em together? No and thank you. Brrr!”

With difficulty, Even brushed trembling fingertips against his throat. It hurt to swallow, but not enough, not the way it had. The bruises left by strangulation had to be gone.

“So who went to town on you?” Demyx prodded, through another mouthful of snacks. “Baldy? Or...ooh, was it the bossman? Xemnas?”

Even only groaned, but Demyx seemed as unnerved by the vague sound as he would have been by any concrete answer. He winced hard, as if running through each of the harrowing possibilities in his mind’s eye.

“Seriously...that gang was bad news. How’d you even get away in one piece? Or in, uh...in however many pieces.”

Again Even didn’t answer; the only reply was his rasping breathing. Demyx grimaced and absently wiped his hands on the front of his uniform, leaving a greasy orange smear on the dark fabric.

“Well, hey—at least you made it out, right? That’s what matters. All’s well that ends well, and all that.”

“Where is...everyone…”

“Everyone else? Asleep, dude. It’s like one in the morning.” To underline the point, Demyx covered a yawn with a fistful of cheese puffs. “I mean, everyone’s been in here all the time, takin’ turns watchin’ you and stuff...but I got slapped with the red-eye shift cuz Sideburns says sitar practice is too loud. Seriously, you’d think that guy would lighten up already…”

Even looked down at his shield arm, too weak to raise it closer for inspection. No longer any shattered bone jutting through the skin, but it still hurt to move, all the way up to the shoulder. And yet...the shoulder _could_ move, he sensed, if he’d had the strength. It was back in the socket.

“Sooo...what happened exactly?” Demyx asked warily. “Did you try and talk your way out of it, or did they just…”

He trailed off, his gaze lingering over the dried blood still matted in Even’s long tangled hair, and he gave another little shudder of distaste.

“...er, you know what? Nix that question. I don’t need all the gory details.” He gulped and nervously scratched his cheek with one finger, leaving a streak of cheese dust on it. “It’d just give me the heebie-jeebies, you know? But,” he brightened, “the good news is, everything’s over with! And it’s all thanks to us. Operation Benchmates was a total success!”

He grinned as if he’d defeated every incarnation of Xehanort singlehandedly and gave Even a thumbs-up. Even only stared at the ceiling.

“The...Replica…The template...”

“Signed, sealed, and delivered!” Demyx puffed his chest. “I’m tellin’ ya, the whole mission went off without a hitch. Roxas is back, and better than ever.”

He seemed to expect more of a reaction to this than he got, because when Even only closed his eyes and breathed raggedly, Demyx poked him in the shoulder, making him jolt.

“You heard me, right? We totally nailed it! Roxas is a-okay...and not just him, either. There’s tons of people runnin’ around now. I can barely count ‘em all.”

He ticked off on his fingers.

“Sora, and Riku, and Roxas, and that other kid who looks like Roxas, and _his_ two friends who both—”

“What...about...the girl?”

“Huh? Who, Kairi? She’s here.”

“No…” It hurt to breathe, but not as much as it ought. His ribs couldn’t still be broken, but they might be bruised. “Xion...”

“Oh, Xion! Yeah man, she’s here too, no worries. She got un-Xehanorted like the rest of us. And hey, guess what—so did X-Face! Can you believe that? He’s still kinda out of it ‘cause he had to recomplete again, but he’s pullin’ it back together. Axel’s babysittin’ him.”

Demyx waited, perhaps for something congratulatory, and upon not getting anything, consoled himself with more snacks.

“The other one…” Even managed. “What...what became of...”

“Mrm?”

“The Riku...Replica...”

“Mmrrmph?” Demyx swallowed a mouthful of Cheesy Poofs so huge that he had to hit his chest with a fist to force it all the way down. “What, that kid? Nah, he bit it like the rest of ‘em, I heard. Why? Was he part of the plan too?”

“I had only...hoped…”

“Sorry, dude. No dice.”

Even closed his eyes and sighed. The sound was a little strange, a faint whistling in it from the remnants of his injuries. Soon his breathing steadied, but once it had, he balked when a finger poked him hard in the forehead.

_“What was that...for...you dolt…”_

“You can’t fall asleep again!” Demyx insisted. “Come on, man, don’t be like that. The other guys’ll rag on me if I let you pass out again without tellin’ anybody you were up.” He made as if to stand, brushing his hands on his knees. “Hang tight, I’ll go get Zex. I mean, Zo. Dude’s probably still in the library anyways.”

“No.”

He froze halfway out of the chair, taken aback.

“No what? Don’t go get him?”

“Not...not yet. Let me...rest…”

“You sure?” Demyx grimaced. “Uhh...well, I mean, suit yourself, I guess. But I’m pretty sure you need to get looked at by somebody who knows what they’re doing. As in, somebody who’s not me.”

“It can...wait. A little while.”

He wasn’t ready to explain himself to any of them. And supposing he had been, he couldn’t physically have managed it. He couldn’t move, could barely talk.

“Whatever you want, dude. Long as I don’t get in trouble.”

Shrugging, Demyx settled himself back into the chair and blithely wiped the last traces of neon cheese dust onto his wrinkled uniform, giving it more orange spots.

“Then I guess it’s just you and me for the rest of the night, huh? ‘Til someone else turns up.” He yawned loudly, stretching his arms and cracking his back with an audible _pop_. “Eh, could be worse. To be honest, I always thought you were just a big nerd—” (Even made a noise), “but turns out, you’re actually pretty cool. Y’know, for an old guy.”

He ignored Even’s faint sputter of protest and smiled in satisfaction, stretching out his legs to rest his feet on the edge of the bed.

“Seems like we make a pretty good team,” he said cheerfully. “Talk about a shocker. But seriously...we pulled off something cool. The coolest secret mission ever. And that means that you and me...we’re kinda like, buds now. Am I right?”

And so confident was he of the answer that he didn’t pause to hear it, instead summoning his sitar back into his lap in a shower of bubbles that glittered like confetti in the lamplight. Even did not have the strength to argue. He pressed into the sweat-damp sheets with his eyes half-lidded, the pain keeping him further away from sleep than his posture suggested.

“It’s truly...over?”

Demyx did not even look up from his tuning pegs, humming to himself.

“Yup. Really really.”

He plucked at the sitar. The song he’d been playing earlier seeped from beneath his fingers, filling the room with trembling chords that filled up the dark corners and reached the high ceiling, dissipating like water, like seaspray.

 _“Hooold meee…whatever lies beyond this morning..._ Mm, I need another line there…”

It was over, Even thought dazedly. If not for the boundless pain, it might well have been a dream.

 _They_ were gone, and yet he was still alive.

_“Regardless of warnings, the future doesn’t scare me at aaaa-aaaall…”_

No, it wasn’t over...not exactly. There was more to do—always there would be—but against all odds, he was still here to do it. It was more than he’d dared to hope for. More than he deserved. Yet it was so.

 _“Nothing’s like bef..._ whoa, hey dude. What’s up? Why are you crying?”


End file.
